


express

by storiesfortravellers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Artists, Implied Peter/Elizabeth, M/M, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter wants to see Neal's first painting in a gallery showing (that isn't a forgery).</p>
            </blockquote>





	express

“So, I painted something,” Neal said. 

Peter sat up straight on the couch and put down his beer. He looked up at Neal, who was standing still, hands in his pockets.

“And am I going to like what you painted?” Peter asked, tension clipping his voice.

“Probably not,” Neal said with the slightest of smiles.

“Neal--”

“Relax, Peter. It’s not a forgery,” Neal said with a grin, then sat down next to him. He took a sip of Peter’s beer and set it down.

Peter leaned back against the couch cushions. “Okay. So why wouldn’t I like it?”

Neal shrugged, unreadable. “For one thing, it’s in the Neo-Expressionist style. You hate Neo-Expressionism.”

“No, I don’t.”

Neal raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Peter said, “I find it slightly… self-important. But ‘hate’ is a strong word. Besides, if you painted it, I’m sure I’ll like it just fine. So what’s the other reason?”

“What?”

“You said ‘for one thing.’ That means you think there’s another thing.”

Neal shrugged again. “Maybe. But it actually got accepted to a gallery show.”

“That’s terrific, Neal! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“It’s not all that. It’s a showcase for paintings by local artists who are just breaking in, sponsored by an arts foundation. It’s just the one painting, and the show is me and a bunch of 19-year-olds from art school, probably.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Modesty doesn’t suit you. It’s almost jarring, in fact…. But really, Neal. I’m happy for you. When’s the opening?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait.”

Neal looked a little uncertain. But he nodded.

\--

 

The night of the opening, Neal was off charming the crowd, presumably making up some backstory for the fake name Neal had signed on the painting, and from the guffaws from the other side of the room, the art crowd was quite taken with him. 

Peter was glad. It gave him a chance to look around. Neal had refused to tell him his painterly alias, saying that he wanted Peter to decide what he felt about the painting without knowing it was Neal’s. 

Peter had smirked and said, “I’ll figure it out as soon as I hear the fake name you came up with.”

“You know me that well, huh?”

“Better than anyone,” Peter had said quickly. He had been expecting an equally quick riposte but Neal had just finished straightening Peter’s tie without a word.

But it turned out that Peter didn’t need to have spent all that time walking around the gallery, peering at the labels and psychoanalyzing the names. Peter recognized Neal’s work as soon as he turned the corner into the side room that housed it.

Or, more precisely, he recognized himself.

Not that anyone else would. The frame was mostly filled with Peter’s back, brush strokes of color complicating the hue of his flesh. The hair was recognizable too, and his head was just slightly turned to give a hint at the profile. But no one besides Peter, Neal, or El would have been able to see Peter in that picture.

But it was definitely Peter. Just a more... sensual version. Not sexual exactly, just with a certain hint of animal energy. But a sense of contemplation too. And more, too, some tone, some light swerve of contradiction and emotion that could only have come from Neal.

It took Peter’s breath away.

Peter stepped closer. The figure in the painting was naked, sitting on a bed, facing away from the viewer. He was looking out the window, leaning toward it, the muscles of his back and neck stretching, a hint of tension, of want.

Peter smiled when he realized: Neal had painted Peter thinking about the chase.

He looked at the label finally. It was called “The Hunter.”

The artist’s name was “Niels Pieters.”

 _Neal is Peter’s,_ he thought with a nod.

Neal walked up next to him then, apparently having escaped his already adoring fans.

“Should I have asked you first?” Neal said, nodding toward the frame. 

Peter heard the real question.

“It’s perfect.” 

Neal slid his fingers next to Peter’s and held his hand. They stood there, staring at the painting.

**Author's Note:**

> For elrhiarhodan for fandom-stocking.


End file.
